Exercise makes me feel better.
Note to self:
Self, remember this observation next time you're feeling lethargic and can't muster the motivation to get off the couch while watching Storage Wars and snacking on chips and salsa.
Exercise is like therapy: sucky until it's over, then I feel AWESOME! The nights I go to the gym, I come home all amped up and cheerful. I do laundry, clean the kitchen (even sanitize the counter tops; usually reserved for special occasions), sing, cook something, crack jokes, dance, call my sister and beg to hang out (What? You're exhausted from working overtime? Are you sure you don't want to take a walk with me?).
Last night Hubbins caught me dancing to Bulletproof by La Roux. (Listen to this song. I dare you not to get jiggy with it). I say "caught" because I was in my craft room with the door closed, the lights off, and the volume UP. I realized he was peeking through the door jam and I screamed. He made fun of me and I got all bashful and indignant, but I was secretly proud that I was doing something as scandalous and happy as throwing my own private dance party. For the record: my dancing is what would happen if Napoleon Dynamite and Richard Simmons taught hip hop. Feast your eyes on THAT visual!
I'm reveling in the happy feelings right now because I know this evening is going to be less fun. Dad, Livi and I are attending a workshop at the hospital on how to choose long term care service and assisted living facilities. This is most likely in Mom's near future. I'm taking big breaths and steeling myself for tonight's tough topic.
I think my next dance party should be with Mom. I'll play the Fiddler On The Roof soundtrack, Barrage, and something by Aaron Copeland.